


Placeless Destination

by sunrise_and_death



Series: Travelers [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Magical Realism, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Psychic Bond, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrise_and_death/pseuds/sunrise_and_death
Summary: Travelernoun1. A person who is traveling or who often travels2. One member of a linked set, known as a Pair, who can psychically interact with each other across vast distances





	Placeless Destination

**Author's Note:**

> This weird (not so) little canon AU was semi-inspired by one of my previous canon AUs. After I wrote [Lucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515105), I started wondering what it would have been like if it actually had been Andrew showing up. And then: this.
> 
> Warnings: Since this is set when Andrew is 13 and Neil is 11, there are references to all the canonical stuff that happens to them at those ages. That includes Drake. There is a very brief scene in which this actually happens "on camera", but it is extremely nongraphic. Still, if you want to skip it, it begins, "It’s hard to keep his promise..." Just skip to the next scene change. Otherwise, everything is discussed between the characters, rather than seen.
> 
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy.

_“… As for the phenomenon known as Traveling, over the centuries several fundamental rules have made themselves clear, followed by vast amounts of speculation. A member of a Pair_ — _a linked duo of Travelers_ — _will only be able to Travel upon reaching their thirteenth birthday, meaning that—barring having the same day of birth—one person will be able to Travel before the other. (Although I would be remiss not to note that extreme circumstances can cause the younger party to be Pulled—or Travel without conscious will—before they reach the appropriate age.) While Traveling, a Traveler will not be able to speak or use any senses beyond hearing and sight; likewise, they will have no effect on their environment and remain unseen by everyone except their Pair. While Traveling, Travelers’ bodies go into a state similar to deep sleep and become very difficult to awaken._

_Given that Traveling has existed for the length of human consciousness, it is dismaying that scholars still do not know anything with certainty beyond these basic facts. Numerous studies have been done that allege that Pairs can drawn upon one another’s skill sets once they are in close proximity, while others argue that the heightened abilities of Pairs in certain areas has more to do with similar interests and core personality traits forming the basis for the connection between them. There are still those that argue that Pairs are soulmates, despite the vast evidence that suggests Pairs fall widely across the romantic to platonic spectrum._

_Why two Pairs are connected, how they manage to Travel, and the effects of that bond upon the two individuals are still looming questions researchers face moving forward._ ”

Excerpt from _Traveling in 18th-Century Literature_ by L.C. Carrith

 

* * *

 

When Alex first sees him, he almost shoots on instinct. Not that it would matter—Travelers aren’t really _there_ after all—but the noise would have alerted his father’s men to his location. Luckily, some part of him pauses before firing and the strangeness of the person immediately hits him; Alex doesn't know how, but he knows the other person isn't in Germany at all.

For a moment, they stare at each other. The other kid—because if this is the first time he’s Traveled then he’s only just thirteen and plus he’s _short_ —stares slightly wide-eyed at Alex’s gun. He’s blond too, which is about all Alex registers before the shots start up again and he’s running for his life.

His Traveler keeps up with him, more because of the way these things work than any actual speed. Alex tries not to let the figure at his side distract him, but he’s not used to having any companion but his mother.

As if he’s summoned her, she appears, driving their car too fast around the corner. He jumps into the passenger’s seat while the car’s still moving. By the time his mom is racing away, his Traveler is gone.

 

* * *

 

Stefan doesn't have to wait too long for his Traveler to show up again. He's a little surprised. If he’d Traveled into a gun fight his first time out, he’s not sure he’d ever Travel again. But Stefan is in his first class at his new school when the kid slides into existence a few feet away.

He looks wary this time, as if he was expecting another scene like the last. His eyebrows raise when he takes in the classroom, and they go even higher when he spots Stefan, hair newly dyed the color of sand and eyes a dark brown. Even knowing he shouldn’t, Stefan stares back. Hopefully none of his classmates notice him looking intently at empty air.

His Traveler begins inspecting the room, prowling up and down the aisles. He pauses at the front, taking in the German flag and the bookshelves filled with German textbooks. He then gravitates over to a map of the world.

Stefan stiffens when the Traveler looks directly back at him before deliberately pointing first to the ground and then to Germany on the map.

If his mom knew, she would beat him bloody. Slowly, Stefan ducks his chin once.

His Traveler glances around the classroom again, like it will change now that he knows where it is. Then he points to himself before pointing to the long stretch of California on the west coast of the United States.

So, Stefan’s Traveler is Californian, or at least lives there. And he’s blond, of course.

Stefan wishes he could talk. It’s probably for the best he can’t; he wants to tell his Traveler everything: that he too is American, that his name is actually Abram, that he’s been on the run for over a year and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop, that he never thought he’d have a Traveler but is surprisingly happy he does.

It’s probably good he can’t talk.

When his Traveler gets no further reaction, he continues his inspection of the classroom. Stefan takes the time to observe him. He’s pale for someone who lives in a state known for being sunny, and his dark clothes make him look even whiter. Even though he’s short, he’s not lean like Stefan but compact instead, like a brick of a human being.

His Traveler veers back over to Stefan’s side. The other students haven’t noticed a thing, of course, but Stefan is hyper-conscious of his Traveler peering over his shoulder. One finger—dirty nail, bruised knuckle—jabs at the blank paper on the desk, then mimes writing.

It’s stupid, but Stefan does not want his first words to his Traveler to be a lie. Slowly, he writes, _I can speak English_.

His Traveler flashes a thumbs-up, expression completely neutral. Stefan taps his pen against the paper, then writes, _My name is Stefan_.

So the second thing he tells his Traveler is a lie.

There’s no thumbs-up this time, just a probing look and a nod. His Traveler opens his mouth as if to speaking before snapping it shut again. He points once more at the paper.

Thinking fast, Stefan scrawls out the alphabet. As soon as he’s finished, his Traveler begins pointing at letters in quick succession. Stefan hurries to copy them all down.

His Traveler’s name is six letters total. _Andrew_.

 

* * *

 

Stefan assumes Andrew must time his next visit with the knowledge of the eight-hour time difference, because he’s home alone when Andrew appears.

“Andrew,” he says aloud, because he can this time. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

Andrew stares at him flatly before looking around the apartment Stefan and his mom are squatting in. They haven’t bothered to unpack, and the curtains are drawn even though it’s sunny outside.

Some explanation is necessary. “We just moved.”

Andrew mimes shooting a gun.

“The place we lived before was really dangerous,” he lies.

It’s hard to tell whether or not Andrew believes him. His face is as blank as in the classroom before; Stefan assumes he must just look that way. He sits across from Stefan and tugs on his long sleeves before making a scribbling motion. Stefan scrambles to pull the alphabet sheet from before out of his backpack.

Slowly, Andrew dictates to Stefan. _British_.

“My accent?”

Andrew nods.

“My mom is English.”

_Dad_.

Stefan doesn’t react. He’s had lots of practice. “He died a couple of years ago.”

_Why are you in Germany_.

Stefan repeats the same story he’s been telling for around a year. “My mom needed a change after my dad died. His family is German, so we came here.” Hoping to derail any further questions, he changes the subject. “What about you? Your parents?”

_Don’t know. Foster parents._

He doesn’t look too bothered by it, but he tugs on the ends of his sleeves, wrapping them around his fingers. Stefan watches the play of black fabric over bruised and bloody knuckles.

“Why are you hurt?” he asks. Andrew stills and stares at him. Feeling stupid, Stefan gestures to his hands. “Do you get in fights?”

This time, Andrew doesn’t immediately answer. His eyes flit over Stefan’s face for a long minute. When he finally leans forward to respond, his gestures are slow and deliberate.

_We are going to play a game._

“What?”

_A truth game. If I ask you a question, you have to answer it honestly. Then you get to ask me a question._

Before he can think about it, Stefan is shaking his head.

_Yes_. Andrew jabs at the letters fiercely enough that he’d tear the paper if he were actually there. _We are a Pair. Pairs do not lie to each other._ The hand Andrew isn’t using curls into a fist. _I do not want a Traveler who is a liar_.

“I can’t,” Stefan insists too loudly. He covers his mouth and tries to calm down. He counts to ten in French in his head, then says, “My mom says it’s not safe.”

Andrews lips are white where they’re pressed together. _How old are you_ , he asks abruptly.

“Eleven.”

_And you still believe everything your mother says._

“No,” Stefan snaps. “You—you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re just some foster kid who thinks he’s tough. You don’t know what’s really out there. It’s dangerous. He could—”

There’s a familiar feeling of panic stirring in his gut and he can’t talk past it. Stefan smoothes his hands over his shirt, feeling the old scars and new wounds through it.

Andrew’s eyes are dark. _Someone hurt you_ , Andrew painstakingly spells out.

“No.”

_You are running away_.

“No.”

_Your father._

“No.”

_Liar._

Stefan wants to run. His heart is pounding in his chest, the muscles in his legs tensed and ready. The only thing that keeps him in place is the knowledge that he can’t run from Andrew. Where he goes, Andrew will too.

Andrew scoots forward, kneeling directly in front of him with a hand reached out like he’d grab Stefan by the scruff if he could. The paper with the alphabet is flat beneath his knee. He mouthes words instead and Stefan—used to his mother’s near-silent instructions in the dark—reads.

_Tell me something real._

“There’s nothing about me that’s real,” Stefan croaks out. “I’m nothing.”

Andrew’s eyes are fathomless, dark and intense enough to swallow them both whole. _No_ , he enunciates slowly. _You are my Traveler._

Stefan tells him everything.

 

* * *

 

The truth doesn't scare Andrew off. He takes it all in emotionlessly, nodding once when Stefan is done and only leaving when Stefan's mom returns to the house. He keeps showing up afterwards too.

Every moment with him is another secret to add to Stefan’s treasure trove. There are two people now who know the whole of him, two people to make him real.

Stefan learns very quickly that this does not mean those two are similar in any other way.

“Mom,” he says one evening as they get into bed. Andrew had disappeared again the moment her key clicked in the door. “Do you think I’ll have a Traveler?”

It’s a mistake. Her hand fists in his hair and yanks his head back until his neck aches with the strain. “If you ever have a Traveler show up, you tell me and I will deal with them. A Traveler is a liability; they could get you killed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” His eyes water as she releases him, and neither of them are able to fall asleep for a long time.

Although Stefan doesn’t mention the incident to Andrew, he must pick up on something, because he is plain about his distaste for Stefan’s mother. Whenever she comes up, he reacts with nothing but scorn.

_You’re pathetic_ , he tells Stefan when they’re in the library one day after school trying to learn sign language. Despite Stefan being multilingual, Andrew learns faster because he doesn't forget anything. _She is not keeping you safe. She is keeping you scared_.

Stefan scowls and clumsily signs back, _You don’t understand._ This is practically his catchphrase when it comes to Andrew. _It’s not like your old foster parents. We’re in danger. And she loves me._

Andrew visibly sighs. He has little patience for Stefan when it comes to this topic. _No. You don’t understand that they are the same. If you love someone, you don’t hurt them._

_You don’t know what love is._

_Neither do you_.

His hatred for Stefan’s mother aside, Andrew is the best thing that has happened to Stefan since Exy. Admittedly, it’s not hard; Stefan has a collection of scars to prove how low the bar is set in his life. Still, every time Andrew slides into existence, Stefan has to duck his head to hide a smile.

They get to know each other in fits and starts. It’s hard when only Stefan can speak aloud; he can’t wait until he turns thirteen and can Travel to Andrew the way Andrew can Travel to him. To make up for it, he dedicates his fingers to sign language the way he dedicated his tongue to German and French. During school, he writes notes that will never be passed. He buys magnet letters for the fridge and tells his mom it’s so they can leave coded messages if they believe they are in danger.

A month after Andrew’s first visit, Stefan is in class when he feels an odd aching in his legs. He reaches down to rub his calves, and then suddenly he is somewhere else, in a room with blue walls, beige carpet, and a bed with a sturdy wooden headboard. Andrew is sitting on the ground, a piece of paper clutched in his hands.

Stefan tries to speak, but no noise comes out. He reaches up to clutch at his throat. Under the thin skin, he can feel his vocal chords working, but he can’t hear his voice—just the wind outside, distant traffic, and Andrew breathing.

The sudden motion catches Andrew’s attention. He looks up at Stefan appraisingly. “You’re not supposed to be here yet,” he says.

His voice is flat, neither low nor high, and slightly raspy. It’s so unexpected that Stefan stumbles through his response with numb fingers. _It can happen_.

“I’m hardly in mortal danger,” Andrew says dismissively. “I didn’t Pull you here.” His fingers create angry creases in the paper he is holding.

_Apparently, you did_. Stefan sits cross-legged by Andrew. He can’t feel the ground underneath him or smell the air. His senses are entirely limited to sight and sound, so he tries to make use of those. He glances around the room. It’s small and the furniture is worn, but there’s something cozy about it. It’s not like the apartments and motel rooms Stefan has become accustomed to, or the cold room he had in his father’s house. This room was put together with affection. Love, even.

_Is this yours?_ he asks.

Andrew shrugs. “I sleep here.”

_It’s nice_.

“Sometimes.”

Andrew has never been chatty with Stefan, but even when he’s pointing at magnets, he’s not generally this terse. To the point, yes, but if Stefan’s mere presence wasn’t already an indication that there was something wrong, this would be.

_What’s the paper?_

Andrew’s mouth twists into an ugly shape. “A letter from my brother.”

_You don’t have a brother_.

“Apparently—” Andrew taps the paper “—I do. A twin. Identical, even.”

Stefan’s hands flutter uselessly in the air for a moment before he forces them to work. He has to spell out about half the words because he doesn’t know the sign for them. _You have a long-lost identical twin._

Andrew looks at him. There is no humor in his eyes or indication that he’s joking. Then he begins viciously tearing the letter to pieces, shredding it with a violent fury. He claws at the paper, ripping off his own scabs as he attempts to demolish every spot of ink. Stefan reaches out, wanting to shake him or stop him, but his fingers pass uselessly through the curve of Andrew’s shoulder.

It is enough to startle Andrew out of whatever kind of fit he is having. He jerks away from Stefan. “Don’t touch me,” he says lowly.

Touching is an impossibility, but Stefan lifts his hands up in the air anyway. _Okay_ , he signs one-handed.

Andrew sucks in a little breath and his features settle back into neutrality. “You have to ask,” he says. “Yes or no. Same for me.”

_Okay_ , Stefan says again. _Can I touch your hand?_

Andrew’s gaze settles heavily on him. “Yes.”

Slowly, Stefan reaches out. His hand hovers in the air just above Andrew’s. It looks like they are touching, but Stefan doesn’t feel a thing.

They sit in silence for a moment. Then, reluctantly, Stefan gestures towards the remnants of the letter. _What are you going to do?_

Andrew absently fidgets with the end of one long sleeve. “He can’t come here,” he says finally. “He needs to stay away.”

_Why?_

Ignoring Stefan, Andrew gets to his feet and grabs a blank piece of paper from his desk. Stefan stands and blocks his way. Once Andrew looks at him, Stefan signs, _I thought Pairs didn’t lie to each other_.

Andrew’s hands clench. “I’ve never lied to you.”

_No. But you haven’t told me the truth either_. When Andrew doesn’t respond, Stefan tries again. _Why can’t your brother come here?_

Andrew’s eyes stray to the bed. “Because of my brother.”

Stefan opens his mouth to try one more time and then there’s a burning hot touch on his shoulder. He’s back in Germany and there are people talking frantically above him and calling for an ambulance and—

 

* * *

 

Although he’d only Traveled for a little under five minutes, to his teacher and his classmates it had seemed like he’d fallen into an unending sleep. They call his mother and she shows up with two fully packed bags.

She knows him too well to think he was actually asleep. “You get rid of them,” she says while she drives. “You don’t go there and you don’t let them come here. Promise me, Chris.”

“I don’t know how—” The impact of her palm against his cheek cuts him off.

“No,” she says. “You get rid of them. I never want you Traveling again.”

As always, he bends to her wisdom. “Yes, Mom.”

He knows there are ways to block your Traveler from Traveling to you. He has no idea how to execute them, but he resigns himself to trying, even though the idea of losing Andrew makes him nauseous. Andrew won’t mind, he convinces himself. After years of shitty foster homes, Andrew’s finally found a good one. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Alex or Stefan or Chris. He’ll be fine.

 

* * *

 

It’s hard to keep his promise or his resolve when Andrew’s emotions tug at him again just a few days later. This time, he recognizes the feeling of being Pulled and ducks into the bathroom instead of going to his morning class. He barely has time to sit down on the floor before he’s no longer in Germany.

He’s in Andrew’s bedroom again and it’s dark. There’s a thumping noise—the headboard against the wall. There’s a man in Andrew’s bed. Andrew is under him.

Chris is gone.

He scrabbles his way over to the toilet before he retches. Nothing comes out, but his body shakes with the force of it anyway.

He has seen a man’s intestines spilling out, the splatter of human brains, his own melted skin on a hot poker. But he has never seen anything like that.

He counts to one hundred in every language he knows. Then he pulls himself together and goes to class. There’s nothing else he can do, after all.

 

* * *

 

A few more days pass before Andrew Travels again. Chris is laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and he doesn’t bother trying to stop it. His mother is out; it’s the weekend. Andrew jumps onto the bed beside him, looking entirely the same.

_You moved again,_ he observes. _Were there more of your father’s men?_

Chris can’t look at him. He throws an arm over his eyes, effectively rendering Andrew mute. “I was there,” he says. “A few nights ago. You Pulled me again. There was a man in your bed.”

He counts in his mind. Then he lowers his arm.

Andrew is not looking at him. His fingers tap a nonsensical pattern against his knee. Chris thinks that even if he could speak, he wouldn’t.

“Who is he?” Chris finally asks.

_My brother_. Andrew sneers at the term. _Foster brother. Drake._

“You should leave,” Chris tells him. He stares at Andrew’s profile, the stubborn line of his chin, his clenched jaw. “If he’s doing that to you, you should leave. Why would you stay?”

_You don’t understand_.

The reversal of his words makes Chris sit up and glare. “What is there to understand?” he demands. “How can you call me pathetic for staying with my mother when you—”

Andrew’s fingers fly fast and furious. _Shut up. It is not the same._

“How?”

_Cass loves me._ Andrew jerks his hands to his chest as he crosses them in the symbol of love. _She wants to adopt me. He’ll graduate and leave soon_.

“You think you can, what, out-wait him?” Chris shakes his head. “What about the holidays? And summers? What if he decides to live at home for a while longer?”

Andrew’s face is hard, resolute. _It does not matter. I want to stay with Cass_.

“She’s worth being—”

The word hangs between them unsaid. Then, slowly, Andrew signs, _I don’t want to give her up. There’s no one else._

Chris digs his hands into the covers. “We’re a Pair. As long as I’m alive, that means you always have someone else.”

He stares down at the bed until Andrew sticks his hand out to get his attention. _Yes or no?_

Chris frowns. “Yes.”

Andrew places one hand on top of Chris’s. With the other, he says, _I’m not ready to give her up yet._

Twisting his hand so it lays palm up, Chris curls his fingers so it almost looks like they’re holding hands. “You know you’re going to have to.”

Andrew’s silence speaks for him.

 

* * *

 

There are rules.

Chris learns not to visit during Andrew’s nights. Andrew doesn’t visit in the evenings when Chris’s mom is home. They snatch time here and there; Chris suspects Andrew skips school. They form a silent pact: Andrew doesn’t talk about Chris’s mom and Chris doesn’t talk about Drake or Cass.

Chris sees her just once. He Travels to find Andrew in the kitchen with her, perched on the counter while she makes cookies. She’s smiling as she tells him a story about her day; Andrew watches seriously, but he leans toward her unconsciously as she speaks. Chris leaves before he can be spotted and nurses the sore feeling in his chest for days afterwards.

The closest they come to breaking the rules is a week later. Cass is out of the house, so Andrew rides his bike—a hand-me-down from Drake—to Lake Merritt and stakes out. Chris sits beside him on the grass and peers over his shoulder at a book on sign language Andrew stole from the library.

_No one else will be able to understand us,_ he comments. _We haven’t been doing half of these properly._

“No one else needs to understand us,” Andrew mutters. “This isn’t like your languages. You can’t exactly use it to blend in.”

Chris thinks it would be useful on the run, actually. If his mom learned it, they could communicate silently in dangerous situations. But he has no way to explain to her how he got so good so quickly, so he dismisses the idea.

It’s Andrew’s fingers crinkling a page that remind him. _What did you tell your twin?_ he asks. _You wrote back, right?_

Andrew smoothes a hand over his sleeves. “I told him to fuck off.”

_Okay_.

Andrew shifts where he’s sitting, kicking a foot into the grass. “It’s not as if anything would have happened anyway. We probably have nothing in common.” He flicks his fingers. “Turns out the woman who gave birth to us kept him. He’s not in the system. He’s been with her the whole time.” The grass rips under Andrew’s foot. “His last name is Minyard. First name Aaron. We match.”

Giving identical twins matching names seems cruel to Chris, especially if you're going to give one of them away. _Why did he write to you now?_

Andrew snorts, sprawling back on the grass with his arms spread wide. "He just found out I existed. We have that much in common." A couple of tipsy twenty-year-olds stumble a bit too close and Andrew keeps quiet until they wander away. "He ran into Pig Higgins, who thought he was me. That's how it all came out."

Fate, like Aaron's mother, could be cruel. _You could still write to him_ , Chris suggests tentatively. _He wouldn't have to come visit or anything._

Andrew jerks upright and swipes through the air where Chris is with his fist. Instinctively, Chris throws his arms up like a shield.

The air is frozen for a moment.

"Leave it," Andrew says finally. He doesn't apologize. He acts like this was part of their rules and Chris should have known. ”Don’t ever talk about him again."

Chris doesn't want to be there, not with this sick feeling in his stomach. If he'd ever trusted anyone before, he thinks this is what it would feel like if they stabbed him in the back.

He doesn't want to be there anymore, so he isn't. He rolls over on his bed in Germany and pulls his pillow over his head. If Andrew tries to Travel, he has no way of knowing.

 

* * *

 

It's very hard to give someone the silent treatment when they literally can't speak. When Andrew shows up, he simply hovers by Chris’s side silently. Chris tries to show how angry he is by refusing to talk or Travel, but Andrew doesn't seem to care. Any efforts to stop Andrew from Traveling to him are similarly ineffective. 

Chris loses patience about a week later. “Go away,” he snaps. Andrew has been watching him struggle with his homework for thirteen minutes. “Leave me alone.”

_No_ , Andrew says.

“I don't want you here,” Chris says. “I don't want you anywhere near me anymore.”

Andrew just stares at him, hands balled into fists.

Eyes fixed on Andrew’s hands, Chris blurts out, "You tried to hit me." He walks to the other side of the room, giving in to the urge to get away from Andrew even if he knows that there’s no way those hands can actually land a hit. He wishes he could go out and run without Andrew trailing along. “You talk all the time about how my mom should treat me differently. But then you did that.”

_I won't do it again_. Andrew’s fingers are emphatic.

“You don’t even feel bad about doing it in the first place.”

_Regret doesn't help anything_. Andrew goes to cross his arms and then remembers he needs his hands to speak. _I will make you a deal. I will never hurt you and you will never touch me without asking._

“I wouldn't do that anyway,” Chris reminds him. “You told me not to.”

_Then it will not be a difficult promise for either of us to keep_ , Andrew returns. _And we will have insurance. I will know you will keep your word because I will keep mine._

“I could keep my word without you doing anything,” Chris argues. “And I could break it even if you kept yours. It’s stupid.”

Andrew’s movements are sharp and pointed as he signs, _Do you agree or not?_

“Fine,” Chris huffs. “I promise not to ever touch you without permission. Not that I could anyway.”

_And I won't ever harm you,_ Andrew swears. He pauses and gives Chris a heavy look. _Not that I could anyway._

Chris scowls at him, but he does feel like a weight has been lifted off him. He flops down on Andrew’s side. “My birthday's coming up,” he offers. “My actual one. I’m going to be twelve.”

_You are such a child_ , Andrew says, but Chris thinks he’s relieved as well.

 

* * *

 

By March, Chris is going by Josh, and he and Andrew have mastered sign language—or at least learned enough to communicate effectively with each other. Andrew has taken to sitting in on Josh’s German class when he can, mouthing the unfamiliar words soundlessly.

_I'll teach you,_ Josh offers when Andrew lingers over the German language books in the school library. _And then when we're done with German, I can teach you French._

Andrew's fingers pause in pulling out the German book. “You know French?”

_Yes. We were in France for a few months_ , Josh explains. _Maybe after French we can learn a new language together_.

Andrew stares impassively at him. “It takes a lot of time to learn a language,” he says.

_Do you have something better to do?_

Andrew twists to the side, shoving the book back onto the shelf. It hits the back of the bookcase with a thud. “There’s no point. Only runners like you need to know that many languages.”

Josh yanks on the ends of his hair. His mother has him growing it out and it tickles the back of his neck. It’s strange that he can still feel that when he can’t feel the rest of the world around him. _It could be fun_ , he says.

“Do _you_ like learning languages?” Andrew asks flatly.

_I liked learning sign language with you,_ Josh tells him.

Andrew takes the book back off the shelf and Josh turns away to hide his smile.

_Maybe you’ll travel to Germany someday_ , Josh says later as Andrew flips through the book. He looks at each page carefully, even though Josh is pretty sure he could glance at them and still remember them perfectly. _I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit._

“You live there,” Andrew mumbles, pen hanging out of his mouth. “You should know.”

_Visiting someplace is different than living there, I think_ , Josh says.

Andrew tosses the pen through him. “If I came to Germany, would we even be able to meet in person?”

The question wrecks Josh’s good mood. He traces the wood pattern in the library table with his eyes. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about meeting Andrew, but he wants it desperately nonetheless. _That would be really dangerous,_ he says evasively. _I don’t think my mom would agree with it._

“Are you planning to let her control your life forever?”

Even though he’s the one that brought her up, Josh bristles at the mention of his mother. _Are you planning on letting him—_ Josh cuts himself off. They sit in silence for a moment.

Then Andrew pushes the book across the table at him and points at a word. “ _Hase_ ,” he says. His accent is terrible. “This is you.”

Josh snorts and points at the word ‘ _ochse_.’ _This is you._

 

* * *

 

Josh thinks his near-slip had been forgiven, but Andrew doesn’t visit the next day or the one after that. Josh’s mother is spending more and more time at home and says she’s seen signs that his father’s men are closing in again, so he doesn’t dare to Travel himself to check if Andrew is okay.

By the fifth day of silence, Josh is desperate. He ditches school in the morning, doubling back to their apartment and glancing over his shoulder the whole time. His mom has errands to run this morning, so he’ll be safe from detection. On the other hand, if his father’s men show up, he’ll be completely vulnerable. He blockades the door as best he can and squirms under the bed, but he still doesn’t feel safe when he Travels.

He knows night is a bad time for Andrew. He wishes he could forget what he’d seen the last time he’d visited after the sun had set on California. But he thinks he could handle seeing that again if he could shake the feeling that he’s never going to see Andrew again.

But he isn’t met with the same sight as before. His new settings are unfamiliar. Josh frowns as he takes in a bland room outfitted with only a bunk bed, two desks, two sets of drawers, and a threadbare rug. A small window lets light into the room, but there are bars across it.

Blankets rustle. Andrew is on the bottom bunk, watching Josh take in the room.

When he doesn’t say anything, Josh walks closer so his fingers are visible. _Where are we?_ he asks.

Andrew sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed. His heels skim the floor. _You are in Germany_ , he says. _I am in juvie._

_What?_ Josh asks. _I think you signed that wrong._

_J-U-V-I-E_ , Andrew spells out, hand contorting into the letters. “Juvie,” he repeats aloud in a low, scraping voice. Josh glances at the bunk above him, but whoever is there doesn’t wake up. “A juvenile detention facility. Do you get it?”

Something curdles in Neil’s stomach. _Why?_ he asks, feeling stupid. _What happened?_

Andrew’s lips twitch. “I stole the Spears’ car and drove it into their church.”

_Why?_ Josh repeats. It doesn’t make any sense to him; Andrew has been steadfast in his determination to keep Cass in his life. Josh hasn’t been able to say anything to shake that, and he’s his Traveler. If he couldn’t do it, he doesn’t understand how anyone else could.

He can see Andrew hesitating, probably deciding how much he’ll tell him. _Pairs don’t lie to each other_ , Josh reminds him.

Andrew’s eyes snap up to meet his. “Drake wanted a twin set,” he spits out.

Bile rises to the back of Josh’s throat. Gingerly, he sits down on the floor in front of Andrew, knees almost touching Andrew’s legs. _You were protecting Aaron_ , Josh says.

Andrew doesn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he says, “You were right.” He smoothes his hands over his forearms. “I couldn’t keep it. It was stupid to even try.” His voice fades even quieter, a husk of a sound. “I just wanted to keep her.”

Josh doesn’t have a response to that. Exy and Andrew are the only things he’s ever wanted to keep. He wonders what he would have been willing to suffer through to keep playing. He knows he’d do anything to keep Andrew.

He reaches out slowly for Andrew’s hand and pauses a hairs-width away when Andrew doesn’t nod his assent. Andrew gives Josh’s hand a measured look and then pushes one sleeve up to bare his lower arm. Red lines run across bare skin. “I just wanted to keep her,” he repeats.

The cuts aren’t deep; Josh is familiar enough with wounds to know that much. But there are layers of them, from faint pink scratches that are mostly healed to cracked scabs still oozing blood. Andrew’s arms will always be marked.

Josh traces what looks like the deepest cut. _Did this help?_ he asks hesitantly.

“They are something I chose,” Andrew answers. He pulls his sleeves back down. “I won’t do it again. I know better now.”

Josh can’t tell if he means cutting himself, trying to keep something, or both. _Why didn’t you tell me?_ he asks instead.

Andrew’s response is cutting. “Why should I have? I owe you nothing.”

_You said—_

“I know what I said.” Andrew slashes a hand through the air. “You cannot complain about anything when I do not even know your name.”

The boy who has called himself Alex, Stefan, Chris, and Josh sucks in a sharp breath. He presses his hands to his chest and feels the harsh lines of scars underneath. It does not ground him; instead, he thinks of Andrew constantly smoothing down his sleeves. _Does it matter?_

“Does it matter,” Andrew repeats flatly. The boy feels stupid. Silence hangs heavy between them for a moment and then Andrew lays back down in bed. “I’m tired of talking to you,” he says. “Go away.”

Abruptly, the boy is furious. He storms over to the bed and sticks his hands right in front of Andrew’s face. _You always do this,_ he says with jerky motions. _You always say when we can or can’t talk, what we can or can’t talk about. And you’re always pushing me to tell you things or change things, but you don’t listen when I try to give you advice._ Other than his steady gaze, Andrew gives no sign of listening. The boy shrugs his shoulders in frustration. _I hate my name,_ he admits. _I’m named after my father. I never want to hear that name again._

Andrew shifts at that, a slow nod that drags his face against the pillow. “What is his name?” he asks pitilessly. When the boy just glares, Andrew points out, “If you sign it, you won’t have to hear it.”

Somehow it still seems like a betrayal to have his fingers form the letters in Nathan.

Andrew looks at him. “That doesn’t seem like your name.”

_It’s not,_ the boy tells him. _I’m Nathaniel._

“No,” Andrew disagrees, bafflingly. “That has his name in it. Your name is Neil.”

The boy blinks in shock. He rolls the name around in his head, mouthing it silently. _Neil,_ he signs. _I like it._

Something flickers over Andrew’s face, too quickly for Neil to make sense of it. “Make a deal with me,” Andrew says abruptly. He sits up in bed, positioning himself right in front of Neil. “Promise it will be you and me. We’ll watch out for each other, just the two of us. No one else, not ever.”

_You mean like not having friends or something?_ Neil frowns at him. _You know I wouldn’t be able to anyway._

“But this way I’d know you were choosing it too. We’d be promising to always put each other first and not let anyone else in.”

_What about my mom?_

“Leave her,” Andrew tells him. “Come to California. You don’t need her.”

_Yes, I do,_ Neil insists. He backs away from the bed. _And even if I went to you, you’re in juvie. We wouldn’t be able to meet._

He considers it for another moment, just because he wants it. He wants something to tie him to Andrew, besides just ephemeral Traveling. A solution comes to him. _Make my mom the exception,_ he says, _and I’ll promise. You can have an exception too,_ he adds, because it’s only fair.

Andrew’s mouth pinches, but he doesn’t immediately dismiss it. “Aaron,” he says finally. “Aaron is my exception.”

It’s an exception Neil doubts will ever come into play, but it’s probably the only one Andrew can come up with. _Okay_ , Neil agrees, _You and me and no one else. Except the exceptions._

Andrew steps off the bunkbed and holds his right hand out. Neil obeys his silent command. Without touching, they shake on it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sure this is part one of at least four. The second part is already half the size of this one and looks like it will keep growing, so we'll see.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and you can find me on [Tumblr](http://sunrise-and-death.tumblr.com) with any questions.


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